The Teachers' Hour
by R.C.Crawley
Summary: A short, revisionary continuation of the characters and events as portrayed in the 1961 motion picture "The Children's Hour."
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One: "Tomorrow:" the Dirty Word**

"Martha, I'm going away someplace, to begin again," Karen Wright said quietly, watching the expressions turn across Martha Dobie's face. "…Will you come with me?" She paused. "We can find work now and…" her weary mind trailed off, even as her voice did.

Martha glanced at her quickly, and then smiled—a soft, sorrowful smile—even as she felt her heart sink into her sick stomach.

_She's pitying me?_

"Thank you Karen." She looked at her hands. "Let's talk about it tomorrow," and settling herself rather uneasily: "I want to go to sleep." The gentle regard of the dark-haired woman was too much and Martha shut her eyes against it, willing her away.

The act was lost on Karen however, and above Martha she beamed dimly in tired approval at her fellow headmistress's shut eyes and smooth, undisturbed brow.

After a moment, Martha heard her leave, the door shutting with a soft click.

Her brow furrowed.

She wanted to kick, and scream, in anguish, but she was so tired..so tired.

Too tired to cry, even. And no well of strength to draw from anymore.

_You'll be alone, Martha Dobie. Alone for the rest of your days, no one to hold you, with nothing but the memory of destroying the life of the one person you've ever loved._

_Not true, _she amended, as she reminded herself of Mrs. Tilford's visit. _It'll be alright for Karen now, wherever she goes. Maybe she'll even go back to Joe..and they'll be married, and she'll be okay. She can go back to teaching, and if she doesn't want to, there's so much she'd be good at. And she could have a child of her own; she's always wanted a baby, for as long as I can remember._

Martha smiled at that thought as she toyed with the rope-tie on her robe.

She choked. She could never see them. She could never go anywhere with Karen. Not anymore. Their friendship was ruined, in public and in private; it was drawing to a close, like a book that, struggling to end happily, can't, because the storyline is so convoluted—and so the last pages must be sad ones. There would always be nasty whispers like large, black shadows wherever they went together. Martha couldn't stand being so near Karen anymore anyway. The sight of her in the mornings made Martha's heart lurch in her chest. Saying good-night was even worse. And the innocent touches they'd shared, after all this..she couldn't stand them anymore. She got a longing from them now—although she has always enjoyed Karen's touches just _too _much—and that was _wrong_, so _wrong _of her to think thoughts like that, about Karen. Karen! Why, if she only knew the thoughts Martha has had.._oh! She would be sick if she knew.._if she knew about the night before the trial when Martha awoke drenched in sweat, her fingers tightly gripping her pillow..she'd showered then, scrubbing off sweat and guilt and muddled embarrassment, and painstakingly ignoring her pounding urges; only to return to bed to toss restlessly…

_How did this happen?_

If Karen only knew how she felt, when she hugged her. She could stay in Karen's arms forever. Their embraces were never long enough, never of the sort that..

But Martha knew..Karen would never, never, never.

It was unthinkable, it couldn't _ever_. She could never act on her feelings for the dark-haired woman, and she would be lonely still longer. And oh, _much_ longer than that.

Martha ached, felt like dying, and her exhausted, raw eyes somehow summoned new, sharp tears that stung like grains of salted sand.

_Karen…oh, god, what now?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The Musing of Karen**

Karen left the room with her heart full for Ms. Dobie. She had never felt this amount of worry for anyone else.

_An early night would suit us both. I'll take a walk before I sleep, I think_, Karen thought on her slow descent down the stairs.

She could hardly believe Martha's confessions. But then she must, for Martha was so honest, especially with her. She was a delicate woman, her housemate, yet she burst with passion that not many saw—quite like the mouse, fragile, and nervous, with the heart of a lion. But it seemed the lion-heart had been sent through the wash cycle too many times. The events of the past months were taking a very visible toll on them both, but poor Martha! Having to carry the burden of this all and of such a secret, alone.

_At least I wasn't alone. I do have Joe. _

_HAD Joe. _

_Not that I have a secret_..

But Martha had nobody now. And nothing—at least until Mrs. Tilford had come along practically begging to make monetary amends. Surely they would eventually take her up on her offer. Everything was reversed now, the papers would apologize and they'd probably even get their students back if they'd even the slightest inclination to. Why shouldn't they? That would be alright, wouldn't it?

But alas, Mrs. Tilford had come only minutes too late, for Martha had cracked and spilled her secret; poor woman! A sick sensation that stung of anger and protectiveness filled Karen's chest, rushing over her as she thought of Martha's self-deprecating speech and the hysteria she'd seen in her when she'd laughed at Mrs. Tilford.

Maybe..this accurately _was_ the "lie with the ounce of truth," regarding her co-headmistress.

She'd rarely seen the young blonde go out on any dates and was almost sure Martha had never, ever had a _real_ sweetheart; the butterflies-in-the-belly, type. It had confused her when they'd first met—Martha was a lovely woman, smart and sweet and quite innocent in many ways. But as the years passed, it was sort of taken for granted between the two friends that the young schoolteacher just didn't date. Karen thought of her friend, of the glacial blue of her eyes and the soft curves of her face, and of the countless, highly fascinated-in-her potential suitors that she'd seen Martha uncomfortable with and uninterested in and ultimately reject. All these years, Karen had thought..

Well, she hadn't thought anything. Though it confused her at first, and though she always was encouraging Martha to give the young men a chance—for Martha's own sake, for surely Martha got _lonely_—she eventually came to see it as merely a part of Martha's nature; that perhaps Martha preferred to be alone, or none of the suitors thus far were interesting enough for her, or witty enough, or tall enough.. She never thought there was anything _wrong_ with her dear colleague, never imagined it was a partiality to..to women?

_Of all the things..!_

And _was_ it wrong?

Of course, it must be. It just isn't done. How could it?

Karen Wright had considered that question herself since the ugly rumor had showed its head. Not in regards to Martha of course!—but rather the issue in general. The typically reserved, dark-eyed woman had a revolutionary streak that she'd kept hidden in favor of more conservative ideals, for the children's sake—but, she really cared nothing concerning popular society's opinion about certain things. After all, popular society was fickle, and awfully cruel. The women were walking proof of that.

Shamelessly inquisitive by nature, Miss Wright had already silently thought about women..with women, from the moment Martha pushed open the screen door with a searching look on her face after Mr. Burton had stuttered it out, pink as a carnation in February. She never had thought of it before this all happened! And again, on one of the nights preceding the trial, while readying for bed, her mind seemed to drift to her body, and Martha's. She'd thought about Joe's strong, heavy body and rough face in the mornings, of body hair everywhere and of big, clumsy but well-meaning hands that didn't really suit a doctor at all. She'd considered femininity, and skirts, and makeup, and soft expanses of pale, smooth skin—of short blonde locks, tailored brows. Curves, and pearls, and breasts...

"My," she'd said that night, and sank deeper under her covers.

And so, she'd been thinking of the issue in passing, but in a detached way. A formless, curious way. Never did she actually deal with it, or think through the implications…she'd never thought she'd had to, until Martha, today.

_Sinful sexual knowledge of one another._ The judge's words in Martha's voice echoed in Karen's mind, as she pondered for the thousandth time what would count as "sexual knowledge." There was no conceivable way for it to be anything like what she and her past male suitors had ever come close to doing, for..well. Palpable reasons.

She not feel as troubled as she should about this. Shocked as anything, yes. Taken aback, certainly. But appalled? Disgusted? What Martha said downstairs should have shaken her to her core; she should have at least estranged feelings for her fellow headmistress. But Martha's confessing surprised her more than the contents of her confession did, if Karen were to be honest with herself. She could already believe that Martha loved her—_and how have I so swiftly come to terms with that?—_What she couldn't believe, was that Martha had openly admitted her feelings. "Shouldn't it bother me, to think about her.. wanting me?" she muttered. "I must be very vain." The impulsive behavior she displayed with Joe?

A two year-engagement, thrown out the window so hastily, without a second thought—like one of those cigarettes the girls would sneak in their rooms and toss when they heard footsteps. She didn't fully understand why she did it. Everything had just changed. She felt guilt for making him go and truly believed that because of the recent disaster that they _wouldn't_ ever be able to go on as before, but the ease with which she'd dismissed him from her mind once it was over had her wondering; marveling even!

Karen put her hand to her cheek.

_I don't know what it is exactly that I should properly be feeling. It's as if the whole world's been turned upside down and shaken. Everything has changed, and none of us will ever be able to go on as we did before. Not Mrs. Tilford, not our dear Mary, _she thought dryly.

_And not Joe._

_Not Martha and I.._

Aching wedged in her stomach as she thought of Martha, upstairs alone. So confused and hurt..so self-loathing. She should never have to suffer such pain.

Karen paused, coat in hand. _I shouldn't leave her to be alone_, she thought to herself. Her gaze turned to the front door, remembering the scoundrels who had ogled them earlier in the day. With a shake of her head, Karen replaced the coat in her hands to the hooks, realizing with a bemused expression that it wasn't her own coat she'd taken. She reached out to touch a sleeve of the soft material, fingering a worn seam, and sighed.

Turning, she headed back up the stairs and knocked on the familiar door to Martha's room. After calling softly and waiting with no response, she tried the door knob, but it wouldn't budge. Had she locked it? _Strange_…_Martha never locks her door_. Karen shook the handle and tried again, with force.

Everything is different, now.

The latch gave and burst open.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: Physical Contact: Action and Reaction**

"Martha?" She inquired softly at Martha's turned back. "..Are you asleep?" No answer. She considered leaving for a slow moment, but instead, she walked around the bed. Martha's eyes stared ahead and held a dull glaze to them. Concern was etched on her face as Karen leaned over to take Martha's hand in her own. Martha's jump at the touch gave away her awareness.

"Martha," Karen whispered. Martha's gaze flickered over to her own. "Come up and have your bath. I'll prepare it for you."

The blonde looked away and sharply shook her head "No, I don't really feel like—"

"…Martha—" Karen implored, softer, slower. Gentle enough to draw those unsure blue eyes back to her own. She stared into them, offering reassurance. "Will you come with me?"

A silent moment passed, and Martha hesitantly replied. "Yes…alright." She summoned up a small smile, and sat up. She couldn't really deny Karen anything. Martha's head spun lightly with exhaustion and confusion and she stumbled a bit as she crossed the room to peer out the window.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, I just heard a—there's a taxi outside."

Karen joined her viewing, her arm brushing against her friend's, and said "I imagine that's your Aunt leaving early." Sure enough, that moment the sound of the front door swinging open and banging shut reached their ears, followed by a view of the old, pride-wounded badger hauling her bag and self towards the cab. They watched wordlessly as the driver took her bags, tended to her and drove off with her.

"Back to the toilets of the theater," Martha sighed. "Thank God. I thought she would never go." She looked to Karen with a relieved smile, then out the window again. "She didn't even ask for money. No doubt she'll wire for it within the week." She hesitated and in her patented Martha casual tone, asked, "Did you have dinner downstairs?"

Smiling, "Without the cook? Of course not. I wasn't downstairs for more than five minutes."

"Oh.." She flushed and put her hand to her forehead: "I've lost track of time. I don't know what's the matter with me."

"Come on," Karen said with a tug on Martha's hand. "I'll run you your bath. We'll do one with so many bubbles, we'll be liable to float on top!" She grabbed the charming bathrobe with the rope-tie that she so adored Martha in, from the lounging chair beside them.

_We_? "Karen, I can do that myself! For god's sake, I'm not an invalid." Martha's tired toes struggled to keep up with Miss Wright's suddenly determined stride and sureness as she guided them down the few steps and around the hall to the biggest bathroom upstairs, their footsteps reverberating through the empty school.

Miss Wright wasn't to change her mind, and once in the large bathroom, Martha watched her run the water and pour foam from the teachers' shared toiletry cabinet. Steam filled the room which, Martha soon felt, was far too small…

"Alright," came Karen's satisfied voice as she turned to Miss Dobie, and she started pulling pins out of her own dark, tied up hair. "Undress."

Martha's hand jumped up to her neckline as if she were already exposed. "..What?" her voice very nearly cracked.

_What indeed_, the brunette deliberated. She spoke, "It's alright, Martha. Nobody's here and no one will come." At the hesitant, unbearably vulnerable look Martha gave her at that, she added "For God's sake, we've already _been_ accused of the wickedest. You act as though we haven't seen each other in states of undress all throughout college." At that, she pulled off her shoes and her cardigan and started on the fastens of her dress, revealing the first shoulder of her blouse and then the second. She looked over at Martha, who stood, looking for all the world as if she feared this was a trap.

"That was years ago, Karen—we were just girls then, and before I.." Martha trailed off, watching Karen casually unbutton and pull the dress down and the blouse over her head, leaving her in only her thin-strapped, delicate thigh-high slip..and whatever lie under that. Karen stood and looked at Martha.

Martha blinked rapidly; her watching eyes darkened and her already flushed cheeks burned, harder.

It dazed Karen, to see that look in a woman, _this _woman. Her heart pounded, but she thought it of the utmost importance that she not show her nervousness. She'd never seen that glint of desire on her chaste friend before. Or on anyone female, for that matter. Without forewarning, her mind questioned what else could make Martha's face look just like that. Their eyes met. The look in the blonde teacher's eyes vanished, instantly replaced with shame and..disorientation.

"..It's alright, Martha," she said again, gently, frankly.

"Karen.." Martha breathed. "What are you d—" she was stopped as Karen stepped to her lightly and placed a finger to the mid-syllable lips.

"It's only a bath."

Karen shook her dark curls and stepped into the large, oval white bath in the center of the bathroom, silk slip and all; sinking into the bubbly warmth, she smiled expectantly up at Martha, and shut her eyes in a sigh of deepest relaxation.

Meanwhile, Martha's stomach was knotted tightly. "But I—I'm not wearing a—"

"But nothing. Do as you like with your clothing, only get in here."

Martha's couldn't breathe, at Karen's demand. She was right; they had done sort of similar things when they were classmates. Well..they'd be in the same room in nightgowns. Martha would brush Karen's hair before bed while she recited the odd list of facts from a lesson. But this..was something else entirely_._

Karen, who was only steps away, in a bath, with her dark chestnut waves down and free, black long lashes resting on pale skin..looked thoroughly at ease. Martha's body hummed and she felt powerless, completely at Karen's mercy—and this was wrong, so wrong!—_but God help me!_

Did she ever want to be in that bath.

Shaking fingers first pulled off heeled shoes and nylons, then fumbled with the clasp at the back of her dark skirt and pulled the zipper down hesitantly, slowly—until the skirt slid off hips and fell to the floor. Her blouse was thankfully longer, but she still flushed hard as she modestly tugged the bottom further down and slipped into the heated water, opposite Karen.

Long moments passed then, as the unsure blonde gazed quietly into the water, avoiding the eyes of the unexpectedly bold brunette, who was now openly regarding her.

"How do you feel? Better?"

Martha looked at the ceiling, gave her a fleeting look, and stared back at the water. "I just—I just don't know what we're doing," she laughed agitatedly. "Do you know what you're doing?"

"I—…No. No, I just thought.." For the first time it was Karen whose voice was unsure. She looked at Martha. "You haven't had your bath yet, and I wanted to be near you, for a while." There was a long pause. The faucet dripped sporadically, the only sound in the entire once-school building. "Will you just..come closer to me, Martha?"

Martha blinked and did nothing. The boundaries were like iron bars; ones she knew very well now.

If Karen were the eye-rolling sort, her eyes would have rolled then. "Here," she spoke, motioning the shorter woman closer. She reached out for Martha's hand and tugged without an idea in mind, pulling her just closer. Martha struggled to compensate by rising up on her knees, but as soon as she thought she'd gained footing, she slipped. Her one free hand proved not sufficient to catch herself on the bath's ledge and she fell forward, her blouse riding up her stomach, her legs slightly parted, on top of Ms. Wright's entire body—the closest they'd ever been, their faces less than inches apart, the length of their bodies pressed together, separated by drenched, heated clothing. Surprised breaths mingled for a fractioned second and—panicking, Martha turned her body and her hand sought the ledge once again.

But Karen had recovered, wide-eyed—at Martha's overreaction, at the situation, at her own unprompted heart that now beat wildly under her soaked slip. "Martha!" she exclaimed, a sudden burst of a laugh escaping her, and she threw her arms around the woman now beside her. "Oh, shh, Martha!" she put her mouth against Martha's hair and embraced her.

And Martha calmed—at least outwardly, her bare, smooth legs relaxing over Karen's own, just about in her lap, only lower now as she forced herself to relax and she slid a couple inches deeper into the water. Karen relaxed her grip, but kept them loosely around Martha.

"Besides, you know. You're getting water all over the whole room and I'm much too tired to clean tonight," she grinned.

Martha released an enormous, wobbly sigh and with it, an amount of tension ludicrous for a woman her size to carry. Her smile was uncertain and tired.

"There now. I told you should take your bath early," Karen said.

They sat in silence, the heat of the water seeping through to their cores and causing their cheeks to be tinged a translucent red. Their full exhales mixed with quiet steam.

"..Karen?"

A beat while she summons up the nerve to ask a question the answer to might undo her.

"Karen, you must think I'm…ill, don't you?"

The quietly world-wise of the two smiled softly. "No, Martha. If it was anybody else I wouldn't be so sure. No, you're not sick, although I've decided I'm beginning to think everybody else is.

"I think you're very brave, for telling me. I…love you the same as ever. Nothing will change that."

Martha slumped against Karen further, her cheek falling on the darker teacher's shoulder and both women grew quiet again. The dripping of the water sped for a moment and slowed again to an intermittent _drip..drip..drip_. Martha wondered at the feel of brown locks on her cheek, the scent of pure Karen coming off of the skin beside her, in the increasing heat of the room. She couldn't remember when the last time was that she'd seen Karen's hair loose. She wanted to dig her fingers in..

"I've been thinking about cutting it," Karen commented, at her friend's gaze.

"Don't," Martha quickly breathed. "But you should let it down more often again." The _student _Karen Wright had always worn the majority of her locks down and she'd loved how they tangled, and bounced, and how they'd lifted in the wind and stuck to Karen's pretty skin in the rain. Since then, Karen's look had turned to one more professional_,_ and the thick, soft, unruly curls slowly disappeared from the "Fifth Avenue" woman's ensembles, much to Martha's never-expressed chagrin.

"No? Really, I shouldn't? I was thinking really very short, too, like some of the women have in the movies now."

Trying to get more comfortable, Karen shifted her knees in the water, only slightly. Wet skin skated across wet skin, and Karen's thigh found itself planted quite firmly between Martha's thighs, tight against wet cotton, and—was that lace?

Martha's lips scraped across Karen's skin in a surprised gasp, hot breath blowing across Karen's neck. Her hand dug into Karen's arm, which had tensed at the obvious signs of arousal displayed in the woman pressed against her. Karen's body shocked her by awakening, responding powerfully to the girl next to her. But before Karen could so much as think, Martha pushed violently against her, sending water everywhere.

Martha was up in a flash, dripping, her wet blouse clinging to her stumbling frame as she grabbed her robe from the counter and fled.

Karen sat and watched her go, wide-eyed, her chest lightly heaving. She sat in silence for a long minute.

And then she bathed quickly, and snatched up a towel.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: The Shotgun and the Virgin  
**

It was a few days after the school had closed. Sure of success at the libel trial, the two teachers were in restless but relatively optimistic spirits. They passed time by catching up on things they'd fallen behind on: organizing the school's curriculum and library, and finally breaking open and clearing out the old locked chest in the supplies closet at the back of the house. Most of the contents were thrown away—it was only old, outdated farm equipment. Only a shotgun was kept, "For protection," Karen explained, wiping the weapon with a corner of her apron. "You never know when one of these could come in handy."

"How about practicing on my Aunt?"

Karen leaned against a desk as Martha sat sprawled on the floor, placing textbooks onto the bottom shelves of a bookcase.

"She's sent again for money. Oh, Martha. Not again!" Karen set the shotgun down on the desk and looked at Martha in disbelief. "You told her she must come back for the trial?"

"Yes..I told her she's got a fine mess to clean up this time. She knows when the trial is now."

"Oh, Martha. I can't wait until this is all over."

"Well, your marriage will certainly help things. I don't see how the town could continue to entertain these notions if you're married."

"The break is nice, in some ways. It's just sort of lonely."

"Is Joe taking you out tonight?"

"I don't know." Karen gazed at Martha's back for a long moment. "I've never asked you this, but..Have you ever..had a _lover_, Martha?"

There was a thump as Martha fumbled with something.

Miss Dobie, occupied with the straightening the pages of the book she'd just dropped, didn't turn. "N-no. Yes! Once. His name was..Howard. Howard Rhodes."

"You mean the tall boy at college? The one I pushed you to go on more dates with?"

"We never—I never let him—we…didn't ever.."

Karen hid a soft, knowing smile.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: Today**

A towel-wrapped Karen padded down the hall and pushed open the door to Martha's room. Something pressing hummed in her, to go see Martha regardless of her state of dress.

The room was empty.

At that moment, from somewhere in the house there resounded a shot, and a dread and queasiness unlike any she'd ever felt shook Karen Wright to her core. She broke from the room.

Before Martha could get over the shock of the gun going off in her hands, before the smoke had cleared, a wild-looking Karen filled the frame to the tiny closet.

The weapon was out of her hands in less than a moment and then Karen was pushing her, grabbing her, touching her, holding her head, checking her for damage, her eyes fraught with fear, with worry. Once she had assured herself that her friend was alright, her eyes welled up and she took Martha's face in her hands.

It only took another moment before Karen's eyes filled with anger and she shook the blonde schoolmistress.

"You fool!"

Martha's face crumpled.

"You might have killed yourself!"

"I wish I had!" Martha sobbed. "I want to die. I can't live. Please, Karen, don't make me go on. I couldn't _bear_ tomorrow. Don't force me." She looked up at the darker-haired with honest blue eyes. "Don't force me. I'm filthy, and ruined now. You can't deny it. You saw, and I know it even more than you can imagine—" her voice was broken now, like a child's. "Everything is different. I'm broken, I'm—not right—I…"

"You're a fool!"

"I've ruined your life and I've ruined my own!" she cried, repeating what she'd said earlier that day. Karen's heart contracted.

"You're a fool. And you're coming with me." she seized Martha's arm and tugged her out of the closet, and to the closest room—her own. With firmness she pushed Martha into her room, pulled a key out from her vanity drawer, and locked the door from the inside.

Turning, she pulled the woman fiercely into her arms, her voice breaking.

"How could you even think it? Do you know what I would do if I lost you?" she pulled back to look at Martha's wretched, searching face. She'd always loved that searching; the innocence in it, the depth. The look Martha gave when someone did something she couldn't comprehend, or said something she didn't understand, or hear. It was a confused, clue-hunting sort of delving exploration.

Maybe it was the strain of the day. Maybe it was the fear of losing something she'd only just discovered, or the relieved joy she felt by finding she hadn't lost it at all.

But today, Karen was captivated by searching blue eyes.

Today, Karen reached up and stroked Martha's cheek, touched a damp, red-blond curl and said anxiously, "What would I do, without you?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six: Hunger**

Karen Wright's eyes slowly opened. For a long moment, she was unaware of her surroundings or the time. She shifted and felt a soft breath on her collarbone, and it all came back to her.

Martha stirred, slowly, and Karen turned her attention to the sleeping blonde in front of her.

Martha's shorter hair was bed-rumpled. The dampness of her hair from the bath she went back to finish before she went to sleep caused above-ear ringlets to form. Her brows were peaceful and untroubled, and her lips were parted.

Karen turned in bed to check the time.

When she turned back, half-open blue eyes were regarding her, and she answered them with a soft smile.

"Hello. Rested?"

"I feel much better, thank you Karen."

"The nap was a good idea. You were so exhausted you were ready to drop anywhere."

"And I feel like I could sleep ages more." Martha slowly stretched. "I haven't slept in your bed since the thunderstorm our junior year. Do you remember that?"

"I remember. You were sweet to keep me so safe from the very dangerous loud noises."

Martha giggled, "I didn't mind a bit."

They lay there, smiling at each other.

_They're the people who believe in it. Who want it..who've chosen it for themselves. We aren't like that._

Karen remembered the woman in front of her, racked with sobs: _Oh, I feel so damned sick and dirty I can't stand it anymore!_

"Martha." Karen touched her pale cheek with her fingertips, "Does this feel sick, or dirty?"

"I..I don't know.." she responded quietly, as her eyes closed. "Karen, when you…when you…_do_ that, I don't feel anything except you. It's always been that way."

Karen said nothing.

"..Hungry?" Martha said, suddenly nervous.

"Oh, yes.." Karen susurrated. She blinked. "Dinner, I'd forgotten!" she moved to get up.

"No, I'll do it, Karen," Martha interrupted with a quick smile, vacating the bed, fluttering fingers brushing out the wrinkles she'd left in it. "You don't know what's there. You just come down when dinner's hot again, in..20 minutes. Read a chapter or two? I'll call you down."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven: Dinner as Usual?**

"It smells lovely!" Karen exclaimed as she walked into the student-less school's kitchen late, informally dressed in a silky looking robe and flat shoes. "What are we having?" Martha stood at the stove, dressed in her own plaid robe, reheating vegetables. Her golden hair framed her face in waves. She tilted her head and grinned at Karen.

"Glazed baked ham and scalloped potatoes. Buttered vegetables too, and there's cake. It's all ready now, sit down and let's eat." She flicked off the stove and set the saucepan of buttery vegetables on the round kitchen table, placing several potholders down first. She turned and reached up to the cupboards and pulled from them two large plates. Karen saw and finished for her, pulling out wine glasses and the silver, and set them out as Martha used a towel to take the potatoes and honey-glazed ham out of the oven.

Dinner was light, enjoyable-Karen raved over Martha's cooking as per usual, and Martha grinned and made jokes about it. They toasted to finding good wine, and made light of their partnership at the school, arguing over whose idea it was to place the music room next to the teacher's study room, and how truly awful it was to grade papers with honking clarinets, piano, and screeching violins being played in the next room.

They spoke a little of where they would go from here; and what they would do—would they, could they, start another school somewhere? No, maybe they shouldn't—Then there befell a moment of strain in their rapport when Karen very innocently brought up how late it was getting.

Martha had nodded, smiled fleetingly, and looked at her plate, wording carefully, "Yes, I suppose you'll be going to bed soon."

Eleven years of casual conversation made difficult the concept of intimate topics of this magnitude. The explicit questions and answers on both parties' tongues remained still sealed behind uncertain lips and vague talk.

"Not just yet; that nap will have me up for several hours, I think. I'll help you clean and wash up," Karen either didn't understand the implication, or evaded it.

And Martha Dobie hoped she hadn't gone mad, for the hundredth time that day, millionth that month. Tonight, the symptom of madness was imagining a requited attraction in Ms Wright, obviously. Maybe the intimacy displayed by the woman across from her a short while ago upstairs..was just Karen's nurturing side emerging, _after I fell off the wagon, _Martha thought dryly of her undone behavior that day.

_But the bath.._

Martha's face, already warmed by wine, heated further.

Opposite her at the table, Karen sat with slow mouthfuls of swirling red liquid, appearing lost in thought.

Their eyes met over their dinner spread.

"Take a walk before we clean up? I don't think we'll have trouble at this hour." Karen suggested.

Martha smiled, bravely.

Karen stood up from the checkered kitchen table and passing around the still-seated Martha, with all the faux normality in the world, she leisurely stroked Martha's shoulder and exposed neck as she went by, and tugged lightly on the ends of blonde at the nape of her neck. "I'll get our coats, we'll go out the back," she threw back, on her way out the door.

The blonde, who had stiffened at the contact, wondered with blazing cheeks if she'd gone mad for the thousand-and-first time that evening, and her fingertips reached up to touch herself where Karen had. She shut her eyes and sighed deeply, shaking her head and rising from her seat just as Karen returned with two warm overcoats.

Gesturing at their apparel, Martha stated they should probably stay well in the back part of the property as she pulled on the offered coat. Karen nodded and out the door they headed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight: Of Jerks and Passions**

It was a warm night softened by a gentle breeze: even warmer with the cabernet moving through their blood; and the stars, as usual, lit the sky eagerly. Cars passed only intermittently and unobtrusively, and even the crickets were hushed in a sort of reverence for the pretty night. It was the reason they liked their strolls on the grass so much, and it had been a while since they'd taken one together. They walked in comfortable silence, hands in pockets and arms occasionally bumping.

"We forgot the cake," Martha mentioned.

Karen's eyes grew large in the dark. "So we did!" (And Martha chuckled at Karen's notorious sweet tooth once she'd had a couple.) "Oh Martha, what kind is it?"

"Dark-chocolate cherry, with chocolate frost. It's just ready-mix Karen, nothing extraordinary."

But Karen blissfully lolled her head back and declared "Mmm, but you know that's one of my very favorites!"

"Any cake is your favorite cake," Martha teased, as they wandered amidst the large trees scattered alongside the deserted playground. "It's a wonder you've stayed so small all these years."

"It's good to be broke."

Martha laughed, clear and child-like. "God forbid you ever get rich then, Karen."

"But don't you think that's just what this evening needs to be perfect? Lush, velvety and entirely sinful _indulgence_?"

Martha nearly tripped.

Suddenly, decidedly male voices and the sound of rustling footsteps reached their ears, coming around the side of the schoolhouse, and their heads snapped up to listen. They sounded unruly..probably very drunk. Karen moved deftly, grabbing Martha's elbow and pushing her several yards back against the base of the nearest tree—an old, old black willow, with three very large trunks and heavy leaves that hung low to the ground—hiding them from view. Martha's barely audible cry of surprise was muffled further by Karen's hand and an insistent, "Shhh!" They stayed there like that, motionless, as the voices grew closer and clearer.

"Tough shit Jack, they ain't home up front s'why would they answer the back door? C'mon, let's go and we can make it in b'fore closin hour."

"I came out here didn't I? So I'm not leavin until I've had my fun with them, see. 'Sides, I wanna see if the broads are as easy on the eyes as they say." He pounded on the door so hard, the frame shook.

"HEY! I see a light on, I KNOW you're in there! OPEN UP PUSSYCATS!"

Martha and Karen's wide eyes locked in the dark. Hearts thumped against each other in a rush of fear.

"Ugh, give it up Jack, they ain't home. It's probably just the old senile aunt in there. I wouldn't be s'prised if they cut town.."

"Shutup Mackenzie, they're IN there. I know it."

Tap...tap...TAP..._ting! _reached their ears as one of the men started lobbing ground pebbles at windows, missing mostly.

"I have dibbies on the redhead—I hear she's never been with a fella before."

"Don't be stupid, how would YOU know?"

"I just heard, like I said. "

"Come on out here, honey, I'm g'nna show you how a man can screw!"

The men—three of them, from what Karen could tell, peering over Martha's shoulder and between the drooping willow leaves—whooped and clapped the joker on the back, adding vulgarities of their own. Karen eyed Martha's furrowed brow, flushed cheeks, the glint of fury and embarrassment in her eyes.. and down at her angrily heaving chest, pressed tight against her own. Karen licked her lower lip. The proximity of the fuming teacher, the heat of the night and of the wine—she couldn't resist.

She craned her neck the smallest degree forward, brushed her nose against the tip of Martha's..

Martha saw what she was about to do. Her sharp intake of air lodged in her chest and her lips parted slightly. Suddenly she found the men's presence a matter of total indifference.

And Karen kissed her, softly, and achingly slow.

Martha trembled.

"COME ON WENCHES! I know you two are in there! C'mon, we just wanna watch! HAHA! Open UP!" the man called "Jack" roared.

The women stared at each other.

"You…" Martha breathed, hesitantly, "You really don't hate me, Karen."

"I'm certainly not acting that way."

"Truly?"

Karen kissed her again, putting the haze back into their eyes. "Truly."

They only made it a couple beats before Martha went in for another taste, quicker. Pink mouths that hinted of faraway vines moved against each other with an escalating sense of ease. A jolt went through them both when the tip of Martha's tongue tapped Karen's quite by accident. Karen let out a sharp breath and her hands slipped inside of Martha's coat and sought the tie on her robe, evoking a sigh of thorough relief from Martha. The neatly tied bow was without ado pulled loose to reveal supple curves contained within a simple but _short, tight, _white silken slip and Karen's fingers explored those curves now, pulling herself into Martha and making Martha's breath catch in her throat when one hand slipped up to barely trace her silk-covered breast. Karen's free hand joined the first, thumbs tracing over what Karen knew with a sort of fiendish _wonder_ and delight to be rapidly hardening nipples.

The men outside could have smashed the door open and every window too, stolen every one of their possessions all while being particularly loud and uncouth-the Misses Wright and Dobie wouldn't have noticed. No, not when their bodies were on fire up against a tree, locked in this, this _sinful _embrace.

Martha's hands covered Karen's own, holding them to her breasts like she'd never let her go, kissing still. Karen lightly pinched a nipple, with one of her hands, just to see the effect, and their mouths were separated as Martha's legs buckled, rough bark digging into her back. Karen pressed herself harder into Martha.

"Karen.." the soft whimper escaped, falling from Martha's lips onto Karen's neck almost inaudibly, but Karen heard clearer than if she'd shouted it. She glanced again at the unpleasant men, noting that they seemed to also be getting impatient.

"Your charm jus' ain't what it used to be, huh Jack?" One of them was chortling.

"Muzzle it Larry. I know what these broads REALLY want," reaching down to his crotch and vulgarly gesturing.

"Yeah, well what I REALLY want is relief from you n' my parched throat."

Martha's lips were on the side of Karen's neck, or at her ear, kissing, like a half-starved woman savors the salt in her favorite dish, and Karen was losing herself to the burn. Martha's fluttering fingers travelled up Karen's chest to her chignon and fumbled in the dark, pulling out pins and setting waves free. Karen knew they weren't going to stop; felt the urgency in Martha, as though the dam had broken, and she was aware of their need for a place; a safe place away from all eyes.

"Come on Jack. Scrap this, we'll come back tomorrow."

"A stellar idea!" He aimed his voice high. "You hear that, teachers? We'll be back tomorrow to show you the way!" He clapped his friends on the back and they headed out of sight, adding "I'll show you about th'Biblical birds and bees. I'll teach YA!" Greatly impressed by the joke, they roared with laughter that echoed as their graceless, gravel-crunching footsteps grew fainter. The sound of an engine was heard to start out front, and they drove away.

"Karen," Martha implored more desperately, still pinned between her and the tree trunk.

The dark-haired schoolteacher took the lighter-haired by the hand, curling fingers together tightly. "Let's go inside."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: Cake, Cherry**

Karen Wright locked the door, shutting out the noises of the night, and shutting in abrupt silence, and turned her eyes to the woman before her, who was twisting her fingers together, surveying the empty dishes and glasses on the rounded, smaller, checkered-clothed table.

"I suppose we should put everything back in order—no sense in letting it lie there, so late." Miss Dobie went for the apron, slung across the back of a chair, and then stacked their plates, saying distractedly "Of course, there's not really reason to be fastidious, anymore, since the children are gone, but that doesn't change the fact that…" she faltered as Karen stepped quite deliberately and closely into her space.

"Martha, put those down."

Miss Dobie put the plates down.

And, having lost her train of thought, at the approaching brunette she could do nothing more than to blink and take a half of a step back, the backs of her thighs bumping the larger, heavy walnut dining table behind her.

"Martha," Karen said, in marvel. "You blow hot and then cold! Are you like this with men?"

She stammered along several vowels, before asking weakly (as Karen stepped closer, her fingers trailing up Martha's sleeve and gently clasping at her elbow): "Do you hate it?"

"It's positively maddening." She paused, her dark eyes jumping across her friend's face. "You don't really _want_ to do the dishes now?" At the answering shut eyes and shaking head, Karen pressed forward, brushing blond-red hair behind an ear.

"Dessert!" the lithe, lighter-featured woman exclaimed, "I made, do, do you, you wanted—"

"—Martha, I don't want any damned cake. I want you, if there's anything I want to taste, now. I want to kiss you, to touch you, I want the…I want the knowledge of you that everyone, everywhere, thinks I have, already."

Blood spread across the face of Martha Dobie, then.

But Karen was already stepping back. "I wish you'd stop this incessant running away from me," she said, quietly. "I know how much you want this, I could tell, outside, and earlier today in the bath. You were practically d—"

And Martha, with much haste, pressed her lips against Karen's, hard, her hands fisting into the material of Karen's robe.

Karen forced her back against the table, tightly, her fingers tangling into blond hair and gripping. Martha's head tipped back and Karen slid her lips down Martha's neck. She slipped her hands around her waist; Martha's legs parted to let Karen closer, and as she did so, the silk of her slip hiked higher, and Karen pulled her close, pressing the length of their bodies snugly together. Martha stifled a groan, low in her throat.

Martha had thought she wanted Karen before. It was nothing, compared to this wanting. This was sheer pain; sharp, and hungry.

"I do, want this." Martha admitted, as much to herself as to the woman who stood before her. "I never have before, and I don't know how, but—"

"Let's go upstairs, to your room?" Karen suggested lowly, even as she snuck fingertips into the top of the lace of Martha's slip.

Martha nodded helplessly.


End file.
